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My Dear Writing,

 

Hello, love

How are you today? 

Because I am doing great 

Basking in your presence, 

Rolling in your cloying pages 

As we sit together here

On this rough carpeted floor

In the midst of four walls 

And a door 

That can barely contain us.

 

I first knew you when I was broken, 

But I met you long before that. 

Back when the sun shined on my face 

And in my smile  

And my pudgy little palms could barely hold a pencil in them… 

I met you 

With your fascinating little tirades 

And lilting moods and tones.

I met you, 

And I fell in love, 

Like I do with all of my friends.

 

–But we were not friends

Though I desperately tried to be. 

I pushed and chased and begged,  

But it made no difference 

Not until I was eleven 

And done.

No friends anymore 

Just empty shells 

Positioned around me  

Like fallen soldiers 

Empty arms 

That were tired of holding nothing. 

I had given up 

At that point

Pushing

And chasing

And begging. 

But then there you were

Knocking at my door 

And inviting yourself inside. 

You didn’t wipe my tears 

But instead made them into ink 

And we were friends,

Suddenly.

 

We are friends,  

Definitely. 

Because I have fixed myself 

Pasted my pieces together with stolen tape and leather binding 

But I still crumble

And when I do– 

There you are 

Just waiting for me 

And sometimes you hold me close 

Let me run my fingers over the curves of your vowels 

And the ridges of your consonants 

And others you push me away 

Force me to run further 

Be better 

And I think that is the best type of love I can get.

 

I’ve resigned myself

To never being happy 

Only dark chocolate bitter 

But I can take it 

If I’m bitter with you. 

Because you can handle me when I'm angry 

And I'm tearing our pages apart 

And you can handle me when I’m sad 

And our pages are threatening to tear themselves. 

And better yet, you can handle me 

When I’m simply being 

By standing there next to me 

And I don’t have to beg and cling 

And neither do you 

We just enjoy each other’s company 

Like it’s all we want to do.  

Perhaps you are more like a drug 

Than a lover,

And more like a lover 

Than a friend, 

But I think I’ll take you 

Any way I can get 

Not because you’re all I have 

But because 

You're all I want– 

Bitter and 

Biting and 

Wondersome 

And soft 

I want your sweetest embrace 

And your harshest punch

I want one of your maybe-novels 

Or the half-written poems 

Crumpled up and tossed away

Living in a dusty old shoebox

Labeled Mine.

 

And love, 

As we sit together 

whole and alone

On this rough white carpet 

Between these plain white walls 

I would like to tell you 

You are all that I am–

Something so big, 

Even when you sit there so small. 

And maybe I am not anything but flesh and bones 

But I can be with you 

And that’s enough  

This door may be able to contain us 

But the world cannot.

 

Love,

Anvi

 

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My name is Anvi Joshi and I am 17 years old. I hail from the honorable birthplace of Frank Sinatra, New Jersey, and I’ve been honorably mentioned in the Scholastic Arts and Writing Contest for my poetry and my journalism. My favorite author (and one of my biggest role models) is Maggie Stiefvater!